


always going to be you

by harryandthestars



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Based of Episode 3x13, Internalized Homophobia, Jealous T.J., M/M, Misunderstandings, Sad with a Happy Ending, Tyrus - Freeform, i love them, it's by me and the insp of this fic lol, poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 22:26:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18061334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harryandthestars/pseuds/harryandthestars
Summary: A week after the disastrous events of Costume Day, T.J. is finally about to properly apologize to Cyrus—until he sees who Cyrus is hanging out with.





	always going to be you

**Author's Note:**

> lmao it's literally 4 am 
> 
> but i tried with this fic,,,kinda ugly tho ik theres prob grammar mistakes but i'll try to fix them later? lol. 
> 
> at the beginning of this fic there's the poem that inspired me to write this fanfic. it's about internalized homophobia and for more poems like this follow me on my IG @ceaselesslywriting. i was reading my old works and i knew that this one just connected to tyrus! 
> 
> as usual, i love my bbies <3 
> 
> tysm for reading!

"Happy"

_i am happy._

it is a denial; i am forcing myself into oblivion. but they are kind and sweet and gentle. i will learn how to adjust.

_i am happy._

it is a denial; i am forcing myself into oblivion. they might be kind and sweet and gentle, but they will never compare to you. how will i ever learn how to adjust. why must the odds separate us like this.

_i am happy._

it is a denial; i am weak. but think of what the people will say.

_i am happy._

it is a denial; i am weak. but what if i stopped thinking of what the people will say.

_i am happy._

it is a denial; i can’t get you off my mind. you are the epitome of a sin. i cannot have you—you are the forbidden fruit.

_i am happy._

it is a denial; i can’t get you off my mind. you are the epitome of a sin that will bring me heaven. i cannot have you—you are the forbidden fruit. but you’re also the garden of eden.

_i am unhappy._

it is the truth; i must fix this. before you go to someone—someone who isn’t a coward, someone who will gladfully reveal themselves to the world with you by their side. i am in love with you, and i accept the repercussions.

_____________

T.J. couldn’t help but think there was a tinge of bitterness in the cool winter air. It seemed as if the whole town was on edge, that Shadyside had finally broken to reveal all the dark secrets it held, like in those poorly written teen TV dramas.

Deep down, though, he knew that it wasn’t his quaint little town that had changed—it was him. T.J. was the unsettled one, the terrible incompleteness echoing throughout him. And it was all thanks to himself.

His ignorance. His unreliability. His repression.

Maybe he would’ve been happier if he’d actually tried—if he went to Cyrus Goodman as soon as he could have and begged for the forgiveness he didn’t deserve. Maybe he would’ve been out with Cyrus, laughing and talking to him, instead of carrying around this sadness. Maybe everything would’ve been okay.

T.J. tried to convince himself that he did try. The Monday after that horrible weekend, he was going to say sorry to Cyrus. Not even through text. He rehearsed what he was going to say, and hoped that it was good enough, even though he knew it wouldn’t be. It was genuine, though, like T.J. could ever look into Cyrus’ eyes and lie. But he had looked into Cyrus’ eyes and hurt him, so who knew what was next? It repulsed him— _he_ repulsed himself.

But he didn’t see Cyrus at all that day. It was just like the gun incident all over again, except ten times worse. But when T.J. didn’t see him parading around with Buffy and Andi at all, or in French class, or in the courtyard where he always snuck him a blueberry muffin, he felt full-fledged panic he’d never experienced before.

Cyrus was at home. Because of him.

“He has a fever,” Buffy coldly informed him the following day. He’d tried to ask casually, coolly, but T.J. could tell he failed. “Why don’t you text him and ask for yourself? Or—” she huffed, eyes flashing dangerously—“or is Kira keeping you too busy?”

The jibe hurt, but he ignored it, vowing to settle everything when Cyrus returned to school. Except when he finally did, two days later, a cohesive change occurred.

“ _Bonjour,”_ T.J. said during French. He swallowed. “Are you feeling better?”

T.J. half-expected angry eye rolls and shifty glances. Well, not really. It was Cyrus; he was too nice. Maybe there would just be adorable passive aggressiveness. Not that anything about the situation was cute. Only Cyrus was—

“I’m okay,” he responded brightly. It was so positive that it startled T.J. He’d forgotten how being happy felt like, and looking at Cyrus then reminded him. Perhaps everything was okay without even addressing the situation, and they would fall back into their comfortable friendship.

“I’ve been meaning to text you,” T.J. started. “But—”

“I know,” Cyrus replied, smiling. “You’ve been busy. Basketball game on Thursday, so practices must be harsh.”

“Yeah,” he said happily, warmth flooding through him. It wasn’t true, of course—T.J. hadn’t texted Cyrus because he was scared. But it was fine because everything really was okay. Right? “So, I’ll see you at the courtyard later—”

But then Cyrus started talking to someone else, some new tall guy T.J. didn’t even bother to get the name of. A few moments later, after the boy returned to his seat with a flourish and an _au revoir,_ Cyrus finally noticed that T.J. didn’t move at all.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. That’s Matt. He transferred from Kennedy a few weeks ago.” The bell rang, causing T.J. to jump. “I’ll see you later.” Cyrus patted his arm, offering him a sheepish smile before returning back to his seat. It was bewildering, and the confusion added when Cyrus continued to act like they didn’t hang out every day. Like T.J. was just a casual friend that he didn’t almost share a costume with.

So now, instead of properly throwing free throws, T.J. was thinking about all of this. Was it his fault for not confronting Cyrus about everything? For not apologizing? It had to be. Or was their friendship irreparably morphed? It couldn’t be—

“ _Kippen_ ,” he suddenly heard after his headphones were yanked carelessly. The absence of music enhanced his emptiness, and dread washed over him. T.J. closed his eyes before turning around.

When he did open his eyes, he wished he didn’t. It was Kira; demanding, overbearing Kira. T.J. had straight up ignored her the past week, not even attempting the confusing Cyrus route. He couldn’t help but notice the suddenly interested teammates around him, smirking as if they knew what was going on.

“I’ve barely seen you this week,” she said, touching his arm. “Where have you been? God, I had to track you down.” When Kira laughed, so did the whole team.

“Is that how you treat a lady, Captain?” one of them asked, causing more laughter. T.J. was too bored to be embarrassed.

“Sorry,” he said, shrugging. “Just been busy, I guess.”

“I see,” Kira said slowly, tilting her head. “So after practice, do you wanna go get some food? There’s this cute place called The Spoon—”

T.J. was already walking away, picking up his things. “Practice ends early today, and I have a ton of math homework to catch up on. Sorry.” He was determined not to look back, and he was exceeding in the feat until three of his teammates stopped him.

“Come on, T.J.,” the tallest simpered. It was Todd, some annoying kid that was president of the Catholic club. “She’s literally standing there. _Alone._ Go take her out.”

The boy next to him nodded gravely. “She’s hot, and she’s into basketball. Go before I ask her.” As if that were upsetting.

“I’m not in the mood,” T.J. snapped. “I have stuff to do.”

Todd rolled his eyes. “What’s wrong with you?”

Unbeknownst to the scoffing boy, the words sparked something in T.J., an intense feeling of guilt and shame. What was wrong with him? Why was he not interested in Kira? _She’s hot, and she’s into basketball._ He stepped back a little bit, which his teammates took as a good sign.

Todd cheered. “Yes, Kippen! Go get her.”

But he didn’t need to; Kira was already walking over to him. “What’s wrong, T.J.?”

“Nothing,” he said gruffly. “Nothing is wrong. I’m just—”

“Busy,” Kira finished. “Listen, I get all that, but there’s something wrong. Are you mad at me or something? Didn’t you enjoy Costume Day?”

 _No, actually, I did not_ . “I’m not angry.” _Only at myself._

“I don’t believe you. Is it because of your gay friend?”

T.J. looked up disbelievingly. No, it was real; she had this smirk on her face that suggested some unchallengeable greatness. “What?”

“Yeah, what?” Todd repeated, furrowing his brow. “You’re talking about Cyrus Goodman?”

“Mhm.” She sighed. “Are you sad about not doing that somersault thing with him? Because I’m _sure_ he understands. If not, then who cares? He hangs out with Buffy Driscoll, of all people.”

“Why—” T.J. cleared his throat. “Why did you just call Cyrus gay?”

“Because I saw the way he looked at you.” And then T.J. knew he wasn’t imagining it when he saw the look in her eyes that said _And I also saw the way you looked at him._ So why was she messing around with him? The answer was clear. He wasn’t just mad at himself anymore.

“Well, uh, Kippen has something to ask you—” Todd started, but T.J. was done. So fucking done.

“Yeah, I do. Please fuck off, Kira.” And he started to walk away hastily, finally breaking into a run, his frantic footsteps echoing throughout the hallway. There was only one destination in his mind. And his name was Cyrus Goodman.

 _Please, please be here,_ he thought, opening the library door. He just had to be, so T.J. could make things better, so he could tell Cyrus everything. He was well aware of his watering eyes and made no effort to stop them.

“T.J.?” someone asked. It wasn’t the voice he wanted to hear, but he spun around anyway. “T.J. Kippen?”

“Hi,” T.J. replied cautiously. The boy in front of him was vaguely familiar, but nothing in his brain was registering except the constant ringing of _Cyrus Cyrus Cyrus._

“I’m Matt.” When T.J. said nothing, he added, “From French class?”

And then T.J. remembered. The Monday after Costume Day, whereupon he tried to talk to Cyrus. “Oh. Hey.”

“Why are you here?” Matt asked, sounding genuinely curious. “Are you finishing the _projet Francais_ too?”

“Um, no. I’m actually looking for someone—”

“Really? I’m already here with my study date who’s looking for a copy of _The Little Prince_ , and I don’t think you’d be looking for him. Literally no one else is here right now.”

T.J. felt his hopes dwindle. He breathed heavily. “Okay, that’s fine.”

“Well, I hope you find whoever you’re looking for. Maybe you can actually take them to the library sometime? Not for studying, of course.” Matt winked. T.J. raised his eyebrows.

And when a figure emerged from one of the bookshelves, T.J. was well beyond raising eyebrows and almost passed out. “I don’t know why they don’t have it,” Cyrus was saying, deep in thought. “It’s one of the most popular books ever, and—oh my God, T.J.?”

None of them spoke but Matt, who was quick to jump in. “You two know each other?”

“Yes,” Cyrus said slowly. “Why are you here, T.J.?”

Matt answered for him in that annoying way of his. “He’s looking for someone.”

It was now or never, T.J. knew. “Yes, I was. Cyrus, can I please talk to you?”

“Right now?” Cyrus asked, his eyes firmly placed on T.J.’s shoes.

“Yes, right now,” he said, almost pleading now. _Look at me._ “Come on, please. Outside.” He flashed a pointed glance at Matt, which didn’t go unnoticed.

“Actually,” the other boy started coldly, “Cyrus and I need to start our project, and then we’re heading out for lunch after. Sorry.”

T.J.’s nostrils flared. The kid was so annoying. Why couldn’t he just leave Cyrus and him alone? What was his problem? And then he saw where Matt’s eyes were roaming—sappily placed on Cyrus. Cyrus, who wasn’t even looking at him. Cyrus, who was getting attention from some stupid, good-looking new boy. Who, coincidentally enough, was openly gay—T.J. had heard about the drama of how the new boy rejected some popular girl on his first day. 

Matt’s hand placed itself on Cyrus’ shoulder, bringing him closer. “We’re busy. Sorry, T.J. You can text him later.”

He stepped closer to Matt, who nearly backed away but then began to stand his ground. The anger was nearly overwhelming him. T.J. gritted his teeth. “Cyrus?”

Beautiful brown eyes looked up at him, and jealousy was replaced with the strong urge to wrap his arms around the smaller boy and never let go. “I need to finish up first. I’ll text you later.”

 _I’m too late,_ he thought hysterically. It was too late. And it was all thanks to the boy who dared to have his arms where T.J.’s should’ve been.

“So you’re saying you’d rather hang out with someone you barely know when I really need you right now?” he spat angrily. Cyrus didn’t even flinch. To T.J.’s surprise—but when it came to Cyrus Goodman, wasn’t he always surprised?—Cyrus’ face broke into a grim smile.

“That’s funny. Those were my exact thoughts on Friday.”

And intense guilt nearly replaced every other feeling. T.J. almost shook with the intensity from it. “Right. Sorry. Have fun with _him_ , then.” His voice cracked as he left, and he didn’t care, because he had fucked up, irrevocably and tragically.

Classic T.J. Anything good he had to ruin.

But when the image of Matt and Cyrus kept coming back to haunt him, the resolution was clear: he had to preserve the one thing, the one person. Life wasn’t worth it otherwise.

* * *

There was a storm that night.

When he was little, Cyrus was deathly scared of thunderstorms. Unlike most people, it wasn’t because of the frightening sound. It was because of the possibility of a power outage. Darkness had always been his biggest fear, and now here he was, engulfed in it, figuratively and literally.

When he heard the knocks on the door, Cyrus’ first impulse was to hide underneath the covers. He was home alone, his parents gone to some therapy convention. It was only nine o’ clock, he told himself reasonably, serial killers didn’t just show up at your door knocking. Right?

So he trudged downstairs hesitantly. For some idiotic reason, he didn’t even check the peephole. Perhaps a part of him wanted the murderer to get it over with.

But the door revealed a different sight, nonetheless a beautiful one. Cyrus knew he shouldn’t feel that way about T.J. Kippen. He couldn’t feel that way about T.J. Kippen.

T.J. was sopping wet, from head to toe, shivering so frantically that Cyrus pulled him inside without a second thought. The dripping water made him seem so vulnerable that Cyrus broke. He should’ve helped him earlier. How could he have not? No matter what, T.J. Kippen deserved the world.

“Why—” he started, but Cyrus was interrupted in the best way possible. T.J. Kippen’s wet, soft lips pressed against his own, and as if Cyrus’ body knew about his heart, his warmth spread to the shivering boy kissing him. It was bliss, foreign yet so familiar at the same time, as if this was what his life was leading up to the whole time.

And when they broke apart, after God knows how long, Cyrus differentiated the tears mingled with the rainwater on T.J.’s cheeks, and that drove away any immediate questions.

“I’m so sorry,” T.J. managed to say, flushed from the cold and the kiss. “God, Cyrus. I am so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Cyrus assured him, trying to calm him. But they were beyond that now.

He shook his head, the tears still falling. “I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot, Cyrus. You don’t even know. I’m so sorry about Costume Day, I’m so sorry. I should’ve called. I should’ve done it with you. She doesn’t matter to me, Kira. Not at all.”

Cyrus let him speak. It took all the strength in him to not comfort T.J. But he had to hear what he was going to say. “You matter to me, Cyrus. And I was ashamed. I was scared. Kira knew that. And I wanted to apologize to you, to resume our friendship, but you were so distant that I thought it could never be fixed. I wanted to try again today, to explain to you about how sorry I was, but still not tell you everything. About how I feel about you. But then I saw you with that guy who had no problem with himself. I saw what he could offer you. And, my God, Cyrus. I want to be that guy.”

The rain pounded on the roof, the redundant sound in the back of their minds. Cyrus shook in T.J.’s arms.

“Please let me be that guy. It’s always been you, Cyrus. And it’s always going to be you.”

And so Cyrus pulled a T.J. and kissed him in response. Because it was always going to be him too. There was no point in pretending anymore, all for the sake of not getting hurt.

Because it was always going to be them together, their fingers intertwined, unashamed and ready and in love.

  
  


 


End file.
